


Wrath of the Black Sheep

by FizzyLiftingDrink



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: France is a bad boy, Gen, Paddling, Payback, Spanking, how it should have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizzyLiftingDrink/pseuds/FizzyLiftingDrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which France pushes his luck and we learn why it's a good idea to be wary of pissing England off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrath of the Black Sheep

"Black sheep of Europe! Black sheep of Europe! Honhonhon, you're the black sheep of Europe!"  
  
A boiling rage surged through Arthur as the taunting laughter rang in his ears. As usual, the Frog had found a way to not only to cut into him, but pour salt in the wound, too! And what was so wrong with wanting to work alone, anyway? If this was the kind of crap he got when he had to socialize with the others, was it really such a surprise he didn't want to be around them? That was Francis though- always there to mock and ridicule him at every chance he got.  
  
"Should we try and stop them?" he heard Yao ask, over the furious pounding in his ears.  
  
"No, I say we sit back and enjoy show," Ivan replied, cheerfully.  
  
"Dude, he's the black sheep of Europe? I didn't know that!" Arthur let out a growl as Francis pointed at him, a smirk painted across the Frenchman's smug, arrogant face that, if he could, Arthur would have torn right off.  
  
"Hohoho! Nothing to say, Angleterre? Finally admitting what a loser you are-" That was it.  
  
Arthur moved without making a conscious decision to do so. Francis let out a girly yelp as the irate blonde barged into him with his shoulder, toppling into the grass. The next moment, Francis felt himself being hurled bodily backwards by his belt. He glanced over his shoulder to witness a terrifying sight- Arthur glowering down at him with a death glare, his large eyebrows furrowed.  
  
"What did you just say to me, Frog?" Arthur hissed, shaking Francis.  
  
"Um- now, Arth-" Francis began, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach- he had just made a very big mistake.  
  
"So you think I'm a loser, do you?" Arthur snarled, dragging Francis over to a nearby bench. "Well, let's just see about THAT. Maybe a trip over my knee might change your mind!"  
  
"Oh, snap!" Alfred cried, as Arthur sat down on the bench, and yanked a startled Francis over his lap.  
  
Francis, remembering being in this position as a child (and a few times as a teenager, if truth be told), he started to panic, attempting a shrill laugh. "Ehh...non, non! I was just joking!"  
  
"Oh, were you?" Arthur spat, holding Francis in place as he started undoing his belt.  
  
"Well, you know what they say. There's truth in jest."  
  
Francis yelped as Arthur tied his arms behind his back, with his own belt, no less!  
  
He tried to get upright, but Arthur wrestled him down, and pulled down his trousers with a swift yank. Francis gasped at the cool air on his thighs, squirming.  
  
"Non, non, you can't do this! I am older than you!"  
  
"Maybe you should act like it once in a while!" Arthur growled, unimpressed by Francis' attempts to get out of his punishment.  
  
Plus, he knew Ludwig had spanked Gilbert before, when the latter was being particularly stupid. He flipped up the back of Francis' tunic, exposing his backside to the elements. Francis gasped out loud, part in shock and part in indignation. Without further delay, Arthur lifted a hand and smacked down hard on the plump bottom before him, the sound sharp and clear in the clearing. "Oww!" Francis gasped, not even bothering to pretend it didn't hurt.  
  
"Non, Arthur, I am sorry!"  
  
"No, you're not," Arthur corrected, calmly, smacking down on the opposite cheek. "But you will be."  
  
Alfred, Yao and Ivan all just stood there, staring in part horror and part fascination (except for Ivan, who was smiling) as this all took place.  
  
"For a skinny guy, Francis has a bouncy butt," Alfred commented, wide-eyed.  
  
"It's all that fattening cuisine that he eats, aru." Yao nodded.  
  
Another smack made Francis cry out and whine, flailing his legs a bit, though he couldn't move them much thanks to his trousers bunched around his ankles. He was only ten or so smacks in, but he was already starting to complain. Arthur gave the light pink bottom another swat, making sure to attend to his sit-spots as well, watching Francis' rear bounce slightly with each slap. As Francis yelped, Arthur began to lecture.  
  
"I am sick of your constant interfering and disrespect, Francis! I know we've had many wars in the past, but enough is enough with your constant insults, teasing and stupid nicknames! You're acting like a bully and I've had enough of it!"  
  
Francis blinked. _Was_ he being a bully? Making fun of Arthur was like second nature to him, but even he knew that he'd hit a sore spot with mentioning his outsider status in Europe, and now he was very much regretting poking at it as much as he did...and not just because of the pain and embarrassment of being spanked like a naughty child in front of the rest of the Allies. But he said nothing, gritting his teeth stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge what Arthur had said. Another smack made him squeak, though, the previous dull burn in his bottom evolving into a much more powerful sting, each swat making it worse. Arthur sighed, knowing when he started it would probably have to come to this, but he'd hoped Francis might be able to admit, for once, he was in the wrong. Reaching into his pocket, Arthur pulled out a brush, rubbing the flat of it against the Frenchman's bottom, to warn him of what was going to happen. Francis bucked, even though he hadn't actually been struck yet.  
  
"Noooo! Let me up! Not the brush! That’s not fair!" he wailed.  
  
"Stop that!" Arthur said, giving the blonde another smack with his hand, the handprint stark white for a moment before fading into the deep pink. "For someone complaining about being older, you're acting like a little boy. Now hold still, Francis, or I'll keep going until you get the message."  
  
Francis, sniveling, nodded and lowered his head to the ground, a whine leaving his throat. Arthur, pleased Francis was beginning to co-operate, brought the brush down swiftly, a crack making Alfred wince, remembering.  
  
Francis cried out as the brush met his sit-spots, and Arthur raised his leg a bit, so that the Frenchman's rear was the highest point and at a more convenient angle to punish.  
  
“Hopefully, this might help you think before you come out with one too many of your ‘hilarious’ remarks, Francis!” Arthur scolded, words almost as blistering as the flat of his hairbrush meeting with an already-sore backside.  
  
“Owww!”  
  
Arthur was merciless as he continued with the paddling, and Francis' bottom was bright red by the time Arthur was done, and the haughty man was outright sobbing, the world one big blur as he tried to gulp back his tears, to no avail.  
  
"Ah, pl-please, Angleterre, I am sorry! It 'u-'urts..." Finally, the Frenchman sounded like he was truly sorry, and Arthur smiled in relief as he smacked the center of Francis’ pert bum with the brush one last time, his eyes carefully sweeping up and down Francis’ bright red and thoroughly punished bottom.  
  
"I know, we're done now," Arthur said, rubbing Francis’ bottom before him a few times before giving Francis a firm pat, as if to remind him of what had just occurred. He helped Francis up into a sitting position, pulling on the blushing Frenchman's trousers up his legs, like you would for a child.  
  
Francis glanced away, embarrassed at not only the treatment but the fact that Ivan, Yao and Alfred were all just blatantly watching.  
  
Though if it wasn’t for the very painful throbbing sensation, sitting on Arthur’s knee like this was actually quite pleasant. Alfred and Yao looked surprised and embarrassed, like him, but Ivan still had on that disconcertingly cheerful smile, like he always did. Francis shivered to look at his, his bottom feeling like it was on fire.  
  
"Now, are you ever going to call me a loser again?"  
  
"N-non..." he sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, even though he knew he should really use a handkerchief.  
  
"Good to know," Arthur smiled, helping Francis stand and tucking away the dreaded brush. Arthur turned to the other nations, a now rather peaceful expression on his face, although it did leave the impression that there were a lot of other emotions beneath the surface of that smile. “Well, shall we press on, lads?”  
  
“Uh- yeah, good idea, Arthur.” Alfred nodded, for once deciding not to insist on being the leader. Ivan and Yao followed the Brit, both of them beginning a conversation about politics, probably to clear up the slightly awkward atmosphere from before, and soon they seemed to have forgotten about what they’d just remembered.  
  
Alfred glanced back at Francis, who was rubbing his bottom with a pained expression, biting his lip to keep from making any noise, and reflected that, while he didn’t know before that Arthur was known sometimes as the black sheep of Europe, he didn’t think he was going to ever, ever mention it. And by the looks of things, neither was Francis.


End file.
